


A glass over the flame

by cirque



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Bonding, Comfort, Leon is a wise wise man, Post Resident Evil 5, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Safehouses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 03:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3275378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cirque/pseuds/cirque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Truth is, it's Officer Valentine in the seat next to him, sure, but Jill's still out there with the sand and the mask and a scarab eating her heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A glass over the flame

 

 

> _"Don't hold a glass over the flame,_
> 
> _Don't let your heart grow cold,_
> 
> _I will call you by name,_
> 
> _I will share your road.”_

 

He leaves it five weeks, and then they're neighbors on a night flight to Heathrow and she's peeling back the plastic of her wilting prepacked salad, chewing slowly as she watches the dark African landscape shrink beneath them.

Five weeks, he thinks, is a damn long time to spend in silence, and he's never been good with all this thoughts and feelings crap. He doesn't know what to say, so he says nothing. He's afraid of breathing too loud, of letting her see his worry, of accidentally elbowing her and triggering a panic attack; Jill is ground zero and they'd never been good at personal space but he doesn't want to set off the bomb. It's a delicate balance and Chris is anything but delicate, but he's trying.

In all honesty, he'd expected Jill to be back to rights in a matter of days. It was a dumb expectation, he now knows, but she'd looked him in the eye in the helo with Sheva, and for a minute there she had been all Jill, a big smile and her familiar laugh and he'd felt relief.

The truth is, it's Officer Valentine in the seat next to him, sure, but Jill's still out there with the sand and the mask and a scarab eating her heart.

He's chewing gum for the atmospheric shock to his eardrums when she turns to him. They'd given her drugs before the flight and her movements are slow and lithe, nothing at all like the harsh clumsy clattering he's used to.

"Who's meeting us at the airport?" It's the most she's said to him since arriving at the Africa HQ.

Chris's ears never react right to altitude changes so everything sounds a little fuzzy, like he's been clocked on the side of the head. "I don't know," he said, "But they're sending a car. I didn't want to drive, you know?"

She nods, purses her lips, and turns back to the window.

He takes the salad from her hands before she drops it. "It's a long flight - you should get some sleep."

She looks at him, looks right through him.

 

* * *

 

It's early morning in London, and the company car they were sent is an Astra, nothing fancy but it fits the two of them and their luggage and Chris knows he can always hire another one if needs be, though he isn't sure if sightseeing is on the cards.

Jill curls into the backseat, and Chris tries to meet her eyes from where he's riding shotgun. The driver, a prickly new recruit who clearly doesn't know what happened in Africa, has to remind her to buckle up, and she fastens it slowly, like her hands don't know what to do.

The driver rolls his eyes, and introduces himself as Charlie Mills. Chris deals with their introductions and Charlie widens his eyes at the mention of Jill's name but says nothing. Chris decides he likes him.

"The safehouse is in Hounslow, should take no more than fifteen minutes if we're lucky." Charlie says, as he guides the car out of the airport. There are decommissioned Boeings on display, and as they drive past Jill looks at them, her jaw going a little slack, eyes crossing.

Charlie powers on. "There'll be a little briefing pack in the house - just numbers of local cab companies, travel cards, contact numbers, things like that."

"Takeaways?"

Charlie laughs. "Those too."

"Excellent."

"Did TerraSave get you yet?"

"Yeah, they ran clean up."

"Well, apparently they're sending over a liason. Red tape..." He shakes his head sadly, likes he's had one too many dealings with TerraSave.

Chris figures well-meaning intruders are the last thing Jill needs, though he doesn't have the clearance to fight it.

"And the security detail will be waiting at the house already. I reckon you know him."

"Yeah?" Chris had hoped to avoid a guard breathing down their necks, though he understands exactly why the BSAA aren't about to let Jill loose on a major capital city without some form of back up.

"He's on loan from the President."

 

* * *

 

Leon isn't afraid to make eye contact with her, isn't afraid to put a hand on her elbow as he guides her through the house, pointing out this feature and that, speaking in a low and calm voice he probably uses a lot in his line of work. The house is not large; it's cosy and functional and something that's easy to pay the rent on. There are watercolors on the walls, lillies and woodland.

Chris is surrounded by beige, broken only by the slightly more brownish shades of the couch, the gray spiral patterns of the run in the living room, and the bright ocean wash of their luggage.

Leon comes back alone to find Chris still futzing with his jacket in the entryway.

"Do I need to carry your bags too?"

It could be mean, Leon has the kind of voice that always sounds steeped in sarcasm, but his eyes are kind and he's standing there wearing Jill's backpack, his shirt hitched up a little to reveal the handgun clipped to his belt, and Chris is honestly glad he's there.

"I don't know man."

Leon leans against the doorframe. He looks oddly relaxed, which is comforting. "It's a tough call. She'll get there, but it'll take a lot of work. And time. And patience."

"You are aware you're listing all the things I'm not good at, right?"

Leon shrugs. "But you're the best she's got so, like it or not, she needs you."

Jill has never needed him before. Sure, they've been together, and there have been some pretty hellish things, but they'd processed them quickly, and separately, and it had all been about work and the mission. This was different, this was Jill Valentine crying at odd moments, sleeping with the lights on, needing him to know what to do. There were no broken bones to patch up, no serum to administer; this was different and raw and internal.

Jill walks towards them, silent and barefoot, and stands between them. Leon regards her with a fond smile. She looks a little more awake.

"All settled?" He says, and she nods. "Is there anything you want? Ice cream, magazines, clothes? I'll have them delivered."

"Some clothes would be nice. My own clothes, I mean, not these." She grabs a handful of the generic gray BSAA drill shirt they'd given her back in Africa and grimaces at Leon. It hangs off her bony shoulders where it once would have fit her snugly.

"You got it." He turns to Chris with an eyebrow raised.

"Uh, clothes would be good. And, like, real crappy unhealthy food. American food, if you can get it. Twinkies and peanut butter and whatever."

"Peanut butter," says Jill, her eyes wide, "oh my god, lots of peanut butter."

"Is this a safe house or a slumber party?" Leon laughs, but he winks. "Consider it done." He zips up his jacket pointedly and nods at Chris. "I'd better be going."

"You're leaving?" Jill sounds worried, like maybe being left alone with Chris is the worst she can imagine. Chris can relate.

"I'm not going far. I'll be back soon, a couple of hours at the most. Someone's gotta keep the world in check while you're having a slumber party." If Chris had said this Jill would have recoiled in guilt, but from Leon it is friendly and warm, and Jill smiles at him. Chris can't help but be jealous of Leon's easy way with words, the way comfort radiates off him.

Jill moves in for a hug, her bony arms snaking around Leon's neck. He hugs back just as enthusiastically, and Chris has an unwelcome reminder of Leon's face after the Spencer Estate, the gaunt way his mouth had dropped as Chris said "she's dead, she's dead" over and over.

"I'll see you soon," says Leon, resting a hand on Chris's shoulder, and then he is gone, out into the London sunshine, and Chris and Jill are alone together.

She manages thirty seconds before retreating back to her bedroom.

Chris hauls his luggage down the hall. The second bedroom is opposite Jill's, her door firmly shut. There's a fairly decent sized bed, a dresser, and an en suite bathroom. More watercolors. He didn't pack much for Africa in the first place, so his suitcase is mostly nondescript black tees and slacks, his BSAA hoody, a dozen pairs of balled socks. He unpacks dutifully; his mother would be proud.

The briefing pack waits for him on the low birch table in the living room. It's enclosed in a heavy leather binding and Chris thinks they just leave it here for every guest. He isn't much interested in the contents yet, but he's definitely considering takeaway later.

"Jill? You wanna go explore? We could go to a museum or ride the underground or something? When in London..."

There's no answer, but he wasn't expecting one so he walks to her bedroom door, knocks twice and listens for movement. "Jill? Hey, Valentine?"

Nothing.

He crosses everything, hoping she isn't crying in there.

"Jill? You've got to answer me, or I'll have to come in. Just let me know you're okay. You want me to leave you alone?"

"Yeah," and her voice sounds like it's coming from miles away, from the spooky depths of the ocean, a pair of sunken ships and the two of them vectoring, together and apart.

 

* * *

 

Leon comes back at noon. Jill's door is still shut like a warning so Chris greets him alone, grocery bags and all.

"I don't even get groceries for myself, so consider yourself lucky Redfield."

"I'm honored."

Leon has bought everything they'd asked for, and a few extras besides. There's enough to feed them for several days.

"You know," says Leon, all casual, flicking through the briefing pack, "In case you don't want to go out."

"Right."

"How's she doing?"

"I don't even know. She's been in her room since you left."

"She's not psychotic which, given the trauma, is a miracle. She's got a lot to work through. How did you do it before?"

"You mean in Raccoon? I don't know man... lots of alcohol, and, like, bringing down Umbrella seemed to help."

"I bet."

"But mostly we just talked. Well, she talked. Not so much about what happened, but what she did when she was a kid, her mom and dad, what she was planning for Rebecca's birthday. That kinda stuff."

"Probably not going to cut it this time around."

"No. Back in Africa we did all the official stuff, doctors and TerraSave and all the rest. They wouldn't have let her leave if she wasn't healthy, right?"

"Healthy is subjective. Physically she's fine. I mean, that junk's out of her system, at least. Mentally, she's a warzone Chris."

"And I'm supposed to what?"

"Call a ceasefire?"

"Your metaphor sucks."

"Yeah. Start small - you need to get her to eat something."

"I can cook maybe three things, none of which we have the ingredients for."

Leon says "God bless free delivery," and pulls out his cellphone.

The pizza arrives in under twenty minutes, and the smell filters through the whole house so Jill comes out of her own accord.

"It's ham and pineapple, your favorite," says Leon, handing the box to her. She takes a slice and regards it like it's solid gold. Her face is red, like maybe she's been crying, or maybe just sleeping with her face pressed into her pillow. Her pale hair is braided, neat and precise.

"It's delicious," Leon says, his mouth full, and it is.

They sit on the sofa, Leon in the miďdle, and Chris snaps up the television remote. There are a hundred or so preprogrammed channels and he flicks through them on high speed, something that really used to piss Jill off and he's just waiting for her to say something, get annoyed and snap, but she stares on, glassy, chewing her pizza.

He eventually settles on a movie he doesn't recognize. He wishes they had beer, but doctors orders had been absolutely no alcohol.

"I've seen this one," says Leon.

"The guy's really an alien," adds Jill. Chris rolls his eyes, but she meets his eyes and actually almost grins, and if that isn't the highlight of his whole life then what is?

"I didn't remember that bit," says Leon, coolly pretending she didn't just speak for the first time in hours.

"Yeah. He takes his best friend in his spaceship."

"Oh."

"It's like a major plot point." 

She nudges Leon's shoulder with hers, just the tiniest fraction but it's there.

 

* * *

 

Nights are the worse. He knows this, he _expects_ this. He knows she's dreaming of Wesker, stop-start sleeping; he can hear her crying behind both their closed doors. He knows a better friend would know how to comfort her, would be able to get through these barriers she puts up just for him.

But it isn't about him, not even slightly, and he's sitting with his back against her closed door because he knows this isn't about him at all - this is Jill, and if he can't comfort her then he damn well can bear witness.

"Jill?" He says, just once. "I'm here, if you need me."

When she speaks her voice is heavy, like she's loosing the battle. "I know."

Her cries are like a wounded animal, and she's gasping for breath, he can hear the dull thuds as she hits the walls. It's the most desperate he's ever heard her and he feels very, very out of his depths.

"Fuck," he hears, and then a bang, her fists on the dresser.

He hears another bang, gentler now, then feels it too as she comes sliding down to the floor on the other side of the door. She sighs, sniffs, sobs again.

"I never wanted you to see me like this."

Chris has no idea what to say. He stays still, but makes a vague noise of affirmation she knows he's heard.

"I mean. You've seen worse, obviously, but I wanted to avoid _this_. It's just, I've got no one else, you know?"

"I know."

"Did I apologize? For... y'know."

"You did, lots, and I told you it wasn't your fault."

"Oh I bet you did."

"We don't have to talk about this now. It can wait."

"No, it's easier now I can't see your face."

Chris doesn't know what to think of that.

She blows her nose. She isn't crying so much now, or if she is they're silent tears. He wishes he could see her.

"Do you want to know what he did to me?" She says, after a long while. He actually thought she'd fallen asleep.

What's the correct answer to that? He doesn't, he really doesn't, because his imagination is bad enough.

"It didn't even hurt. He did something to take the pain, after we fell from the cliff I mean, and I was numb for... it must've been days. Like, I couldn't feel any of it. I broke like two dozen bones, but not even an ache."

Chris nods. She can't see him, but he's got his jaw clenched.

"So you can imagine, whatever else he did, didn't even hurt. At first. And then I just got used to it. He said I was always going to end up with him. He said he'd had plans for me from the start. I didn't even fight him. Does that make me a monster?"

"No," he rasps, and he has to clear his throat and try again. "You're not."

"It was months before the serum actually took full control. Before that it was just me. Does that make me a monster?"

"No..."

"I could've fought back. I'm a trained soldier. I could have. But I didn't. It didn't hurt and I let him do whatever he wanted. Does _that_ make me a monster?"

"I... fuck - Jill - no it doesn't. He drugged you."

"I did it to save your life, you know."

Well, _fuck_.

"Isn't that ironic?" He can feel her shifting against the door, can hear every breath, but she's never been further away.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, they don't mention it. She showers and puts on clean clothes and when she comes into the kitchen she looks a little more like herself. He offers her coffee but she shakes her head and makes herself tea instead.

Leon arrives a little after ten, bringing news about the TerraSave liason, who is apparently in the car waiting to be invited in.

"I don't know if that's a good idea," Chris says, trying to catch Leon's eye and drop a hint.

"Oh, I think it's a great idea." Leon looks pretty smug.

"No seriously -"

"Seriously, it's your sister."

"Claire?" Jill perks up, she's actually smiling.

Leon nods, and goes to bring her in, and Chris loses track a little of what happens next, except he's pretty clear on the fact that Jill and Claire almost crush each other and they are both crying, big heavy sobs, nothing like the horrific cries he'd witnessed the night before.

Claire breaks away from Jill long enough to hug Chris, and he's marvelling at the fact that she managed to keep this a secret from him.

"Where else am I gonna be?"

They lock themselves in Jill's bedroom for most of the day. Chris sits with Leon, and doesn't tell him about the night before, though he isn't sure why not.

"I need to leave," he says instead.

"I thought this whole thing was about Jill, not you."

"Jill needs to leave too. We need to get back to work."

Leon sighs, his voice steady. "She isn't going to be allowed to go back to work, at least not for a long while."

"Then I do. She needs to get back to normal, she needs routine."

"Chris, you need to understand, she'll never be normal again. She'll find a handle, maybe, some level that she can cling to, but that's as good as it gets. Her life wasn't exactly normal before. Whatever delicate balance she had has been taken from her."

"I'm not expecting her to just be fine, but -"

" _Never_."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I know what trauma is like, sure, but I also know what it's like to watch someone go through it. And sometimes? They don't come out the other side. They just don't. But what they can do is cope, day by day, and the one thing Jill needs right now is for you to understand that."

"It's so easy for you. Claire too."

"We're topic experts," Leon says with a grim smile.

The door opens, and Claire steps out, her eyes red like she's seen every single one of Jill's horrors. Topic experts.

 

* * *

 

That night she actually lets him in the room. Leon and Claire have gone to find a bar or a restaurant, and Jill gets that lost look in her eyes barely seconds after they leave. So she lets him in and he sits on the floor by the door, Jill on the other side of the room, facing him, her knees tight against her chest.

They don't speak for the longest time until she takes a long shaky breath. "I'm sorry for what I said last night."

"I've told you, you don't have to be sorry about any of this."

"But I am. I'm sorry I killed so many people and I'm sorry I did god knows what to progress Uroboros. I need to be sorry, Chris."

"Okay."

"I meant it though, what I said. I did it for you."

"Jill-"

"No. I did. Maybe you were my motivation or my trigger or I don't know, but as long as I did it for you then it's ok. I can handle it, if it was for you."

"Is that why you couldn't look at me?"

"Well... There were other reasons, but yeah. I don't blame you, but the second I saw you in Kijuju, really saw you I mean, I knew it was real. I'd got by on pretending it was a dream or a hallucination or whatever, but suddenly you're there and it's real. It just... It's a lot to deal with."

"It is."

"I didn't mean to make you feel guilty."

"I already feel guilty."

"You saved my life."

"I should never have had to."

For a second he thinks she's going to cry again, but then she laughs, bitter and harsh. "Twelve years too late Redfield." She rests her chin on her knees, her eyes big and white in the weird half light.

And he laughs too because it's ridiculous, this life, and he will never get the hang of it.

"Now what?" She says, stretching her legs out long in front of her.

"Now we go to sleep, it's like midnight. I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted."

"I meant more in the general sense."

"Oh. Well, we've got to go back to the States, people want to see you. It'll be good to get you home."

"Oh god," she says, "Do I even have a home? No way is my lease still open."

"Yeah, no, we kinda closed it... on account of you being dead and all."

"Bummer. I like London, for now."

"You haven't even seen any of it, except the airport and this house."

"I've got tomorrow, right?"

And that just hits him between the ribs because _yes_ , she's got tomorrow, and a lot of other tomorrows besides. "Sure. We can stay as long as you like."

"Great."

"Think you'll be able to sleep now?"

"Well, I definitely plan on trying."

"What about the nightmares?" He stands to go into his own room, his knees protesting at being still for so long. He straightens them experimentally, one by one, and they crack.

"Oh, I can handle those."

"Sure?"

"Yeah."

He backs out the door with a nod. She'll be fine, tonight, he's sure. Tomorrow, day after, next week, is anyone's guess, but he isn't about to ignore this breakthrough right now. They're topic experts, after all.


End file.
